


Ground Hog Day

by MagicaDraconia16



Series: The XYZ Challenge [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Humour, Time Travel, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 15:51:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15933629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicaDraconia16/pseuds/MagicaDraconia16
Summary: Harry and/or Snape find themselves reliving the same span of time over and over again. What caused this phenomenon, and just how are they to get out of it? Are both wizards aware that time is repeating itself, or just one of them? And just what is it about this one day that it just refuses to end?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the challenge by Dream Painter - Harry and/or Snape find themselves reliving the same span of time over and over again. What caused this phenomenon, and just how are they to get out of it? Are both wizards aware that time is repeating itself, or just one of them? And just what is it about this one day that it just refuses to end?
> 
> -The period of time should be less than 24 hours but probably longer than 5 or so  
> -Only Snape or Harry must be aware that time is repeating, though both is still an option  
> \--Alternatively, another person may also be aware of this instant replay  
> -Bonuses for comical hi-jinks and multiple chapters 
> 
>  
> 
> I couldn't quite make it into multiple chapters; this is the best I could do. I also apparently vaguely had it in my mind that this was set in 6th year (hence Malfoy), but then realised later on that 1) I was using a calendar for Harry's FIFTH year, and 2) Snape wouldn't have been teaching potions in that case. So it is, officially, set in 5th year, but just imagine Malfoy's done something . . . Malfoy-esque.

 

**_4th April 1996_ **

“Harry,  _pay attention_!” Hermione Granger hissed out of the side of her mouth.

“Malfoy’s up to something,” Harry Potter grumbled back. He idly grabbed an ingredient off the table in front of him and tossed it without looking into his cauldron, briskly stirring the brew whilst glaring across the room at his blond-haired nemesis.

Hermione tossed a pinch of powdered Belladonna into her cauldron and gently stirred it twice, before selecting a sprig of daisies and beginning to chop them. “Harry, Malfoy is brewing his own potion,” she said. “And you really need to be paying attention to this one. It’s very dangerous, as the peppermint—”

Her voice faded as Harry tuned her out. His friend could go on about potions – or anything – for hours, and Harry just didn’t care that much. What he  _did_  care about was what trouble Draco Malfoy was thinking up.

“ _HARRY_!” Hermione suddenly hissed, and nudged him sharply in the side with an elbow. Harry winced and turned to ask her what she was playing at, only to discover Professor Snape bearing down on their table with a glare that was more glacial than usual. Hastily, he grabbed for the nearest ingredient to hand and went to throw it into his cauldron.

“ _No, Harry_!” “ _Mr Potter, don’t you **dare** —_!” Hermione and Snape cried at the same time, both grabbing for Harry’s wrist.

Harry’s hand, which had been opening, spasmed as he tried to close his fingers again as Snape’s hand gripped his wrist tightly, Hermione’s fingers just brushing them both. He almost managed to retain the entire handful of pomegranate seeds, but one little seed was jostled by the movement, and slowly slid off the side of his hand, landing in the boiling cauldron with a tiny  _splash_.

Horror-stricken, the three of them looked down at the cauldron for a frozen moment, before it gave a tiny  _whumpf_ , and the contents abruptly exploded forcefully upwards, completely drenching Harry and Snape.

Harry’s ears rang with shouts and screams, along with Snape’s hisses of pain, as he sank gratefully into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

**_5th April 1996_ **

Harry came back to consciousness with a jolt.

The surface he was lying on was too comfy to be the stone floor of the dungeons, so unless someone had cast a Cushioning Charm, then he was in the Hospital Wing. Groaning, he lifted a hand to his head. It felt as though someone had hit a Bludger at him.

“Oh, good, Mr Potter’s awake,” someone said from beside him, and from the snide tone, Harry knew it was Snape. Instantly, he wished he could just fall back into unconsciousness, but unfortunately, he wasn’t that lucky.

He forced his eyes open. To his surprise, Snape wasn’t standing by his bedside, but was instead reclining on the next bed, looking incredibly sour. Hermione was hovering at the foot of his bed, fidgeting, looking as though she wanted to perch on his bed but didn’t dare do something so casual with Snape there.

“Oh, Harry,” she said with a little gasp. “Thank goodness you’re all right.”

“What happened?” he asked, struggling to pull himself upright. If Snape was going to yell at him, he’d prefer not to be flat on his back. “And where’s Ron?”

“Mr Weasley has been banned from the Hospital Wing until he can learn some manners,” Snape told him, his mouth curling in dislike.

Harry looked at Hermione, who flushed. “He was very rude to Professor Snape,” she agreed, twisting her fingers together. “Madam Pomfrey threw him out.”

“Hmm,” said Harry, unsurprised. “What  _happened_?”

Snape glowered at him. “As usual, Potter, you were not paying attention,” he growled. “You almost added the pomegranate seeds after the fluxweed but before the daffodil stems. And let’s not speak of the fact that you added the Time-Turner powder  _first_ , when it was supposed to go  _last_!”

“Time-Turner powder?” Harry repeated, puzzled. “We were using Time-Turner powder?”

“Oh, for—!” Snape turned his gaze imploringly to the ceiling. “ _Yes_ , you were using Time-Turner powder!” he snapped, turning back to Harry. “But you were so busy fawning over Mr Malfoy that you obviously didn’t notice!”

“I was  _not_ —!” Harry began indignantly, then paused and bit his lip. He couldn’t exactly explain to  _Snape_  that he suspected Malfoy of being up to no good. Snape was likely in on it, too, whatever it was. “When can I leave here?” he asked Hermione, instead.

“As soon as Madam Pomfrey’s sure that you haven’t got any hidden injuries,” she told him.

“I haven’t. I feel fine,” Harry said, and threw back the blanket covering him.

Snape gave a resounding snort from the next bed. “Of course you can’t tell, Potter,” he said. “That’s why they’re called  _hidden injuries_.” Although the professor didn’t  _actually_  roll his eyes, his tone of voice made it very clear that he wanted to.

“It’s just another couple of hours, Harry, that’s all,” said Hermione, soothingly. She patted his foot through the blanket. Harry grumbled, but knew that he had no chance of getting out from under Madam Pomfrey’s eye if she didn’t want him to. Resigned, he lay back to wait. 

* * *

Ron pounced on Harry the moment he set foot outside the Hospital Wing. “I’m sorry, mate, she wouldn’t let me back in,” he babbled. “Just ‘cause I told that gi—” He stopped abruptly, as Snape pushed through the Hospital Wing doors behind them. “Um . . .”

“Eloquent as always, Weasley,” Snape said as he all but barged past them. “And Potter, detention tonight, at eight o’clock.”

“Detention?!” Harry squawked. “What for?”

“For damaging my classroom, and almost killing me,” retorted Snape. With his robes billowing behind him, he disappeared around a corner, no doubt heading back to his dungeons.

Ron glared at the space where the Potions Master had been. “Git!” he fumed, indignantly.

Hermione huffed, and grabbed each boy by the arm, pulling them along the corridor away from the Hospital Wing. “Honestly, Ron,” she said. “Harry’s lucky it’s only  _one_  detention.”

“ _Harry_  shouldn’t have any!” Ron protested. “It was  _Malfoy’s_  doing;  _he_  should get the detention!”

“Of course it was Harry—” Hermione started, but Harry quickly spoke over her.

“Of course it was Malfoy,” he said. “Malfoy’s always up to something.” Which was true enough. Although,  _technically_ , it had been Harry’s fault, he’d been busy keeping an eye on Malfoy. So if Malfoy hadn’t been sneaking around, then Harry would have been able to pay more attention to his own potion, rather than making sure Malfoy wasn’t plotting in class.

Given the glare Hermione levelled at him, she didn’t seem to agree. But that was okay, because Ron was nodding wisely at Harry’s words, even though he hadn’t been able to see what had actually happened. Ron was always happy to blame the Slytherins.

“I’ll pay more attention, next time,” Harry promised her, and mentally crossed his fingers. Potions – and its professor – were dangerous, but somebody had to make sure that Malfoy didn’t do something stupid . . . like find a way to let the other Death Eaters into the school.

* * *

Harry skidded to a halt in front of the Potions classroom just as his watch ticked over to eight o’clock. He’d run the entire way from Gryffindor Tower, because he’d been so wrapped up in his game of Exploding Snap with Ron and Neville that he hadn’t been watching the time. Hermione probably would have warned him, but the yells, shrieks and whoops, plus the loud bangs from their game, had chased her out of the common room.

Panting hard, Harry rapped on the classroom door. He hoped whatever torture Snape had planned for him tonight didn’t include a lot of standing. His legs felt like jelly, and he wasn’t sure they’d hold him up for much longer.

“Enter!” came the bark from inside, and Harry pushed open the door.

Snape was sitting at his desk, busily marking some poor soul’s essay. From the amount of red ink he was using – which Harry could see even from where he was – it was likely to be one of Harry’s own. Or Neville’s. Or Ron’s. Or, really, any Gryffindor.

“Mmm, almost late, Potter,” he said, not even raising his head. “Perhaps you need lessons in how to tell time, too.”

“Sorry, sir,” said Harry. He didn’t even bother trying to explain; Snape wouldn’t care anyway.

Snape used his quill to point to the left, still without looking up. “Cauldrons to be cleaned over there,” he said, then pointed the quill the other way, “and stacked  _neatly_  over there when done.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry murmured. He grumbled internally to himself as he approached the stack of filthy cauldrons.  _Why couldn’t Snape have had me doing lines? For once, I’d actually appreciate them!_

By the time midnight was approaching, Harry had completely forgotten the ache in his legs . . . mainly because he now had a bigger ache in the small of his back from bending over the cauldrons.

“Hmm,” Snape’s voice suddenly said behind him, and Harry jumped. He hadn’t realised the professor’s quill had stopped scratching. “Tolerable, I suppose,” he sniffed, then he leant forward to point to a spot on the inside of the cauldron. “You’ve missed a bit,” he said, smugly.

Gritting his teeth against the urge to say anything that would result in another detention – if not outright expulsion or dismemberment – Harry bent to scrub harder at the non-existent spot that Snape had supposedly seen. As he did so, his arm brushed Snape’s.

It felt a lot like he’d stuck his finger in a live socket, or been caught in the flames of the Hungarian Horntail he’d fought in the Triwizard Tournament.

As he crashed to the floor, he vaguely registered Snape crumpling beside him, just before everything went black. 

* * *

**_5th April 1996 – Take Two_ **

Harry came back to consciousness with a jolt.

The surface he was lying on was too comfy to be the stone floor of the dungeons, so unless someone had cast a Cushioning Charm, then he was in the Hospital Wing. Groaning, he lifted a hand to his head. It felt as though someone had hit a Bludger at him.

“Oh, good, Mr Potter’s awake,” someone said from beside him, and from the snide tone, Harry knew it was Snape. Instantly, he wished he could just fall back into unconsciousness, but unfortunately, he wasn’t that lucky.

He forced his eyes open. To his surprise, Snape wasn’t standing by his bedside, but was instead reclining on the next bed, looking incredibly sour. Hermione was hovering at the foot of his bed, fidgeting, looking as though she wanted to perch on his bed but didn’t dare do something so casual with Snape there.

“Oh, Harry,” she said with a little gasp. “Thank goodness you’re all right.”

“Er, what happened?” he asked, struggling to lever himself up. If he was going to get yelled at, he wanted to be upright for it.

Hermione flushed. “Ron would have been here, but he was very rude to Professor Snape,” she said, twisting her fingers together. “Madam Pomfrey threw him out.”

“Hmm,” said Harry, unsurprised. “What  _happened_?”

Snape glowered at him. “As usual, Potter, you were not paying attention,” he growled. “You almost added the pomegranate seeds after the fluxweed but before the daffodil stems. And let’s not speak of the fact that you added the Time-Turner powder  _first_ , when it was supposed to go  _last_!”

“Time-Turner powder?” Harry repeated, blankly. “We were using . . . ?” His voice trailed off as he was struck by an intense feeling of déjà vu. Somehow, it felt like he’d had this conversation before.

“Oh, for—!” Snape turned his gaze to the ceiling, as though begging somebody to give him patience, before turning back to Harry. “ _Yes_ , you were using Time-Turner powder!” he snapped, turning back to Harry. “But you were so busy fawning over Mr Malfoy that you obviously didn’t notice!”

“I was  _not_ —!” Harry began indignantly, then paused and bit his lip. That feeling was growing. Shaking his head, he decided to focus on more important matters. “When can I get out of here?” he asked Hermione.

“As soon as Madam Pomfrey’s sure that you haven’t got any hidden injuries,” she told him.

“I—” Harry began, about to protest that he felt fine, when he felt that overwhelming déjà vu again. He was  _sure_  he’d had this conversation before. Granted, he’d had a lot of conversations like it, but this felt different.

“It’s just another couple of hours, Harry, that’s all,” said Hermione, soothingly. She patted his foot through the blanket. Harry grumbled, but knew that he had no chance of getting out from under Madam Pomfrey’s eye if she didn’t want him to. Resigned, he lay back to wait. He’d figure the mystery out later. 

* * *

Ron pounced on Harry the moment he set foot outside the Hospital Wing. “I’m sorry, mate, she wouldn’t let me back in,” he babbled. “Just ‘cause-umphsufps.” The end of his sentence was muffled, as Harry found himself clapping a hand over his friend’s mouth.

“Eloquent as always, Weasley,” Snape said as he all but barged past them, although Harry noticed that he was frowning in a puzzled manner. Maybe he was feeling the same sense of déjà vu as Harry was. “And Potter, detention tonight, at eight o’clock.”

“Detention?!” Harry squawked. “What for?”

“For damaging my classroom, and almost killing me,” retorted Snape, giving a brisk shake of his head. With his robes billowing behind him, he disappeared around a corner, no doubt heading back to his dungeons.

Ron glared at the space where the Potions Master had been. “Git!” he fumed, indignantly.

Hermione huffed, and grabbed each boy by the arm, pulling them along the corridor away from the Hospital Wing. “Honestly, Ron,” she said. “Harry’s lucky it’s only  _one_  detention.”

“ _Harry_  shouldn’t have any!” Ron protested. “It was  _Malfoy’s_  doing;  _he_  should get the detention!”

“Of course it was Harry—” Hermione started, but Harry quickly spoke over her.

“Sure it was Malfoy,” he said. “Malfoy’s always up to something.” Which was true enough. Although,  _technically_ , it had been Harry’s fault, he’d been busy keeping an eye on Malfoy. So if Malfoy hadn’t been sneaking around, then Harry would have been able to pay more attention to his own potion, rather than making sure Malfoy wasn’t plotting in class.

Given the glare Hermione levelled at him, she didn’t seem to agree. But that was okay, because Ron was nodding wisely at Harry’s words, even though he hadn’t been able to see what had actually happened. Ron was always happy to blame the Slytherins.

“I’ll pay more attention, next time,” Harry promised her, and mentally crossed his fingers. After all, he was fairly sure there  _would_  be a next time.

* * *

Harry skidded to a halt in front of the Potions classroom at five minutes to eight. He’d run the entire way from Gryffindor Tower, because he’d been so wrapped up in his game of Exploding Snap with Ron and Neville that he’d almost forgotten the time. That persistent nagging feeling had made him look up, and swear vehemently when he realised that it was already a quarter to eight. Hermione probably would have warned him – or washed his mouth out for him at his language – but the yells, shrieks and whoops, plus the loud bangs from their game, had chased her out of the common room.  

Panting hard, Harry rapped on the classroom door just as his watch ticked over to eight o’clock. He hoped whatever torture Snape had planned for him tonight didn’t include a lot of standing. His legs felt like jelly, and he wasn’t sure they’d hold him up for much longer.

“Enter!” came the bark from inside, and Harry pushed open the door.

Snape was sitting at his desk, busily marking some poor soul’s essay. From the amount of red ink he was using – which Harry could see even from where he was – it was likely to be one of Harry’s own. Or Neville’s. Or Ron’s. Or, really, any Gryffindor.

“Mmm, almost late, Potter,” he said, not even raising his head. “Perhaps you need lessons in how to tell time, too.”

“Sorry, sir,” said Harry. He didn’t even bother trying to explain; Snape wouldn’t care anyway.

Snape used his quill to point to the left, still without looking up. “Cauldrons to be cleaned over there,” he said, then pointed the quill the other way, “and stacked  _neatly_  over there when done.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry murmured. He wasn’t surprised at his punishment, but that didn’t stop him from grumbling internally to himself as he approached the stack of filthy cauldrons.  _Why couldn’t Snape have had me doing lines? For once, I’d actually appreciate them!_

By the time midnight was approaching, Harry had completely forgotten the ache in his legs . . . mainly because he now had a bigger ache in the small of his back from bending over the cauldrons.

“Hmm,” Snape’s voice suddenly said behind him, and Harry jumped. He hadn’t realised the professor’s quill had stopped scratching. “Tolerable, I suppose,” he sniffed, then he leant forward to point to a spot on the inside of the cauldron. “You’ve missed a bit,” he said, smugly.

Gritting his teeth against the urge to say anything that would result in another detention – if not outright expulsion or dismemberment – Harry bent to scrub harder at the non-existent spot that Snape had supposedly seen. As he did so, his arm brushed Snape’s.

It felt a lot like he’d stuck his finger in a live socket, or been caught in the flames of the Hungarian Horntail he’d fought in the Triwizard Tournament – and it also felt strangely familiar.

As he crashed to the floor, he vaguely registered Snape crumpling beside him, just before everything went black. 

* * *

**_5th April 1996 – Take Three_ **

Harry came back to consciousness with a jolt.

The surface he was lying on was too comfy to be the stone floor of the dungeons, so unless someone had cast a Cushioning Charm, then he was in the Hospital Wing. Groaning, he lifted a hand to his head. It felt as though someone had hit a Bludger at him.

“Oh, good, Mr Potter’s awake,” someone said from beside him, and from the snide tone – even if it did sound slightly confused – Harry knew it was Snape. Instantly, he wished he could just fall back into unconsciousness, but unfortunately, he wasn’t that lucky.

He forced his eyes open. To his surprise, Snape wasn’t standing by his bedside, but was instead reclining on the next bed, looking incredibly sour, and yet also as if he was searching for a memory that he couldn’t quite recall. Harry sympathised.  _His_  feeling of déjà vu was so powerful that he was fairly sure he knew how the next few minutes were going to go. Sure enough, when he looked over, Hermione was hovering at the foot of his bed, fidgeting, looking as though she wanted to perch on his bed but didn’t dare do something so casual with Snape there.

“Oh, Harry,” she said with a little gasp. “Thank goodness you’re all right.”

“Er, what happened?” he asked, struggling to lever himself up. If he was going to get yelled at, he wanted to be upright for it – even though he already knew he wasn’t going to get yelled at.

Hermione opened her mouth – to explain about Ron being thrown out because he’d been rude to Snape – but Snape himself spoke before she could, glowering at Harry. “As usual, Potter, you were not paying attention,” he growled. “You—” He suddenly paused, and then continued in a slower voice, “You added the Time-Turner powder  _first_ , instead of  _last_.”

It wasn’t quite what Harry thought he should have said, since he seemed to remember something about fluxweed, but it was probably close enough. It appeared that whatever déjà vu was affecting Harry had advanced to Snape, too.

“Time-Turner powder,” he said now, more of a statement than a question, but Snape took it as one.

“ _Yes_!” he snapped. “And you’d have noticed if you weren’t so busy mooning after Mr Malfoy!”

“I was  _not_ —!” Harry began to retort, and then stopped. There was no point going down that road . . . even if he hadn’t done so at least once already, Snape wouldn’t care.

Instead, he turned to Hermione, who was frowning at both of them. “When can I get out of here?” he asked her.

“As soon as Madam Pomfrey’s sure that you haven’t got any hidden injuries,” she told him, then added, “It’s just another couple of hours, Harry, that’s all,” and patted his foot through the blanket.

Hearing Snape give a not-so-muffled snort from the next bed over, Harry rolled his eyes, and settled back to wait.

* * *

Ron pounced on him the moment he set foot out of the Hospital Wing. “I’m sorry, mate, she wouldn’t—” he began, but Harry grabbed his arm and hustled him down the corridor. “What?” Ron squawked, trying to tug his arm away. “What’s the matter with you? Gerroff!”

“Eloquent as always, Mr Weasley,” said Snape from behind them. He breezed past them as Ron gaped at him, and Harry rubbed his forehead in resignation. “And Potter, detention tonight, eight o’clock.” Heading around the corner, Snape paused and looked back at Harry. “And don’t be late,” he added, mockingly, and then continued on his way back to the dungeons.

“Git!” Ron said, emphatically, pulling a face at where the Potions Master had disappeared.

Hermione huffed and took hold of his arm, tugging him in the direction she wanted to go. Harry trailed along behind. “Honestly, Ronald, Harry’s lucky it’s only  _one_  detention,” she said. “He could have killed us!”

“Think Dumbledore would have sacked him then?” Ron asked, fairly hopefully.

Hermione stopped in her tracks, and as she still had hold of his arm, Ron was halted rather abruptly, too. “ _Harry_  could have killed us,” she corrected, shaking her head. “I  _told_  him to pay attention to what he was doing! If Professor Snape hadn’t stopped him from putting that handful of pomegranate seeds into his cauldron, that potion could have wiped out the entire class!”

“Oh,” Ron mouthed, silently. He glanced back at Harry, who shrugged at him. He supposed he should have listened better to Hermione, but she tended to lecture them both so much that it defeated her purpose. After five years, they tuned her out once she started. And besides, he’d been more concerned with keeping an eye on Malfoy.

Although . . . Harry frowned.  _Why would I think Malfoy would do something in_ Snape’s _class?_

“Harry!” Hermione’s voice broke into his thoughts. Realising his friends had continued on down the corridor, Harry ran to catch up.

* * *

“Do either of you have déjà vu?” Harry asked them at lunch time.  

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said. “Everybody gets déjà vu at  _some_  point in their lives—”

Ron rolled his eyes, and shovelled another forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth, no doubt to stop whatever scathing comment he wanted to say that would attract Hermione’s ire.

Harry shook his head at her, and she paused, mid-word. “No, I mean right now,” he explained. “I have this really intense feeling of déjà vu right now. Neither of you has it?”

Hermione frowned at him. “What exactly are you feeling déjà vu about?” she asked, reaching into her bag for a quill and parchment.

“That’s just it,” said Harry, helplessly. “It’s about  _everything_! For instance. . .” He pointed over his left shoulder. “Someone over there drops their knife—” A sharp  _clang_  rang out around the Great Hall as someone dropped their knife. Harry pointed over to their right. “Two girls over there squeal and then start laughing—” Three girls at the end of the Hufflepuff table had their heads together over a magazine. One turned a page, and the other two squealed in shocked delight, before looking at each other and bursting into giggles. Harry nodded to the other side of the room. “Filch skulks in, looking daggers at everyone, then goes up to the Head Table and whispers to Professor Flitwick—”

Ron and Hermione’s mouths dropped open when the caretaker appeared in the doorway, glaring round at the nearby students before inching his way around the room towards where all the professors were seated. Upon reaching the side of the diminutive Charms professor, Filch crouched down and the two had a whispered conversation, before both departed through the staff door behind the Head Table.

“That’s more than just déjà vu, mate,” Ron said, turning to stare at Harry. “You’re turning into Trelawney!”

Insulted, Harry glared at his so-called friend. “You take that back!” he demanded. “I am  _not_  turning into Trelawney!”

“For one thing, he’s getting things right,” added Hermione, her lips twitching. Her amusement faded as she continued to study Harry. “Something’s obviously going on, though,” she continued. “I’ll have to do a bit of research.” Hermione’s face lit up, even as Ron’s fell.  _A bit of research_  meant they likely wouldn’t see her for days . . . or at least, not without a large book in front of her face. “When did this feeling start?” she asked Harry.

“This morning,” he replied. “Just after I woke up in the Hospital Wing.”

“And is it one continuous feeling, or does it come and go?”

“It’s a bit of both,” Harry decided after pondering this for a moment. “Everything feels familiar, but there are times when the feeling is stronger than others.”

“Hmm.” Hermione tapped the end of her quill against her lips. “You don’t know if there are any Seers in your ancestry, do you?” she asked.

Harry scowled at her. “Oh, yes, the Dursleys mentioned it  _so_  often,” he retorted, sarcastically.

Instantly, Hermione’s curious expression melted into contrition. “Oh, Harry, I’m sorry,” she said, reaching out to cover his hand with one of her own. “Maybe Remus or, um, Padfoot might know?”

“If they do, they’ve never said,” Harry pointed out.

“Not exactly a common topic of conversation,” said Ron, around another mouthful.

“No, I suppose not,” Hermione agreed. “Perhaps you could ask them, Harry?”

“Why can’t you?” Harry folded his arms. He was starting to regret ever mentioning this feeling he couldn’t shake.

His friend nibbled on her lower lip. “I could,” she said, slowly, “but it would probably be better coming from you.”

Harry groaned to himself. Hermione was right; he knew that. It just sounded so . . . so . . .  _stupid_ , writing to Remus and Sirius to ask if they knew about any Seers in his background just because he _had a feeling of déjà vu_. It sounded like something Trelawney would say.

“Fine, fine, I’ll do it,” he grumbled, eventually. “I’ll write it once we’re in the dorm, then send it before my detention with Snape.”

“And I’ll start looking things up in the library,” Hermione said, nodding briskly.

Ron groaned in protest. Harry could only shrug at him.

* * *

Quarter to eight found Harry outside the Potions classroom. He had remembered the detention in time to not be late, but had then forgotten about his promise to Hermione to send Sirius’ letter beforehand. He hadn’t remembered it until he was on the second floor, and by that time, going back to get it and then heading to the Owlery  _would_  have made him late.  

Since he figured he had a good idea of what was coming, he’d just have to send it tomorrow.

When ten minutes had finally crawled by, he knocked on the door. When Snape called for him to enter, he went in and immediately turned to where he  _knew_  the cauldrons would be stacked.

Except . . . they weren’t.

Harry had taken several steps in that direction before he realised, and then he came to an abrupt halt, peering around the room in confusion. Snape, he further realised, was smirking at him.

“So you’re feeling it, too, Mr Potter,” the professor said, folding his hands together on the desk in front of him. “I had wondered.”

“Um, feeling what, sir?” Harry asked. This was not what he had expected at all. However, it was quite nice to  _not_ subconsciously remember everything that happened before it actually did so.

“ _Déjà_   _vu_ , Potter,” said Snape, briskly. “The overwhelming feeling that you’ve done and seen and heard all this before.”

Surprisingly, Harry felt something like relief flow through him.  _It’s not just me!_  “Is there something we can do about it?” he asked, hastily adding, “Sir?” at Snape’s sharp look.

“I doubt it,” Snape said. “It seems a bit beyond coincidence, though, that two people have been having the same feeling about the same things at the same time.”

“Something deliberately caused it?” Harry asked.

Snape separated his hands. One set of fingers began idly drumming on the desk, while the one finger on the other hand began tapping his mouth. “Time-Turner powder,” he said, finally, just as Harry was beginning to think Snape had forgotten he was there. “You used the Time-Turner powder in the wrong order. Maybe that has something to do with this. I shall have to do some research.”

“Hermione’s already gotten started on researching, too, sir,” Harry told him. He frowned, suddenly. “Would anyone else be feeling this déjà vu, d’you think, sir?”

Snape also frowned, considering this. “Hmm. Miss Granger  _was_  showing vague signs of it when we first awoke in the Infirmary this morning, but it didn’t appear very strong, and if I recall correctly, it didn’t last very long, either. She was not doused with the potion as you and I were, but she was nearby – she may have gotten a smaller dose of . . . whatever it is that has caused this.”

Harry wondered if he should tell Hermione that. On the one hand, it was more information that she could use for her research. On the other, knowing Hermione, she’d end up experimenting on herself.

“I will inform you, or Miss Granger, later if it becomes necessary, Potter,” Snape said. “But for now, you still have a detention to serve.” And he pointed to where the cauldrons were stacked behind him.

“Yes, sir,” Harry began, and stepped towards the cauldrons. Unfortunately, Snape’s hand had still been outstretched when he began to move, and so when the professor brought his hand back, the fingertips brushed against Harry’s robes.

The unfortunately-familiar sensation of being hit by a bolt of lightning shot through Harry, and with a grunt of pain, he collapsed to the floor, already unconscious by the time Snape collapsed on top of him.

* * *

**_5th April 1996 – Take Four_**   

Harry came back to consciousness with a jolt.

The surface he was lying on was too comfy to be the stone floor of the dungeons, so unless someone had cast a Cushioning Charm, then he was in the Hospital Wing. Groaning, he lifted a hand to his head. It felt as though someone had hit a Bludger at him.

“Oh, good, Mr Potter’s awake,” someone said from beside him, and from the snide tone – although it sounded awfully flat – Harry knew it was Snape. Instantly, he wished he could just fall back into unconsciousness, but unfortunately, he wasn’t that lucky.

He forced his eyes open. To his surprise, Snape wasn’t standing by his bedside, but was instead reclining on the next bed, looking incredibly sour, and yet strangely expectant. Harry sympathised.  _His_  feeling of déjà vu was now so powerful that he knew how the next few minutes were going to go. Sure enough, when he looked over, Hermione was hovering at the foot of his bed, fidgeting, looking as though she wanted to perch on his bed but didn’t dare do something so casual with Snape there.

“Oh, Harry,” she said with a little gasp. “Thank goodness you’re all right.”

“Er, what happened?” he asked, struggling to lever himself up. He wasn’t going to get yelled at, but he wanted to be sitting up anyway.

Hermione opened her mouth – to explain about Ron being thrown out because he’d been rude to Snape – but Snape himself spoke before she could, glowering at Harry. “As usual, Potter, you were not paying attention,” he growled. “You added the Time-Turner powder  _first_ , instead of  _last_.”

“Time-Turner powder,” he said, more of a statement than a question, but Snape took it as one.

“ _Yes_!” he snapped. “And you’d have noticed if you weren’t so busy mooning after Mr Malfoy!”

“I was  _not_ —!” Harry began to retort, and then stopped. There was no point going down that road . . . even if he hadn’t done so at least once already, Snape wouldn’t care.

Instead, he turned to Hermione, who was frowning at both of them. “When can I get out of here?” he asked her.

“As soon as Madam Pomfrey’s sure that you haven’t got any hidden injuries,” she told him, then added, “It’s just another couple of hours, Harry, that’s all,” and went to pat his foot through the blanket. She paused, though, with her hand hovering over the bed, before slowly lowering it.

Harry exchanged glances with Snape. It appeared that it wasn’t just them the déjà vu was affecting now – Hermione appeared to be feeling it, too. Resolving to talk to her as soon as Madam Pomfrey let him go, Harry settled down to wait.  

* * *

Ron pounced on Harry the moment he set foot out of the Hospital Wing. “I’m sorry, mate, she wouldn’t—” he began, but Harry grabbed his arm and hustled him down the corridor. “Oi!” Ron squawked, trying to tug his arm away. “What’s the matter with you? Gerroff!”  

“Eloquent as always, Mr Weasley,” said Snape from behind them. He breezed past them as Ron began spluttering, but as he did so, Ron gave an extra-hard tug, and yanked his arm away from Harry. Unbalanced, Harry took a step backwards, and collided with Snape.

The fizzing crackle filled his veins once again, and the world went black.

* * *

**_5th April 1996 – Take Five_**   

Harry came back to consciousness with a jolt.

The surface he was lying on was too comfy to be the stone floor of the dungeons, so unless someone had cast a Cushioning Charm, then he was in the Hospital Wing. Groaning, he lifted a hand to his head. It felt as though someone had hit a Bludger at him.

“Oh, look, Mr Potter’s awake,” someone said from beside him, and Harry knew it was Snape, even if that hadn’t sounded  _quite_  right. Instantly, he wished he could just fall back into unconsciousness, but unfortunately, he wasn’t that lucky.

He forced his eyes open. To his surprise, Snape wasn’t standing by his bedside, but was instead reclining on the next bed, looking incredibly sour. Harry’s feeling of déjà vu was so powerful now that he was pretty sure he could recite how the next few minutes were going to go, plus maybe a couple of hours beyond that. Sure enough, when he looked over, Hermione was hovering at the foot of his bed, fidgeting, looking as though she wanted to perch on his bed but didn’t dare do something so casual with Snape there.

“Oh, Harry,” she said with a little gasp. “Thank goodness you’re all right.”

“Er, what happened?” he asked, struggling to lever himself up. He’d had enough of lying on his back.

Hermione opened her mouth – to explain about Ron being thrown out because he’d been rude to Snape – but then abruptly closed it, frowning, just as Snape himself spoke. “You were not paying attention, Potter,” he growled. “So you added the Time-Turner powder  _first_ , instead of  _last_.”

“Time-Turner powder,” he said, more of a statement than a question, but Snape took it as one.

“ _Yes_!” he snapped. “And it appears to be making us relive this day over and over again. This is your fault, Potter!”  

“It is  _not_ —!” Harry began to retort, and then stopped. There was no point going down that road . . . since technically, Snape was correct. It had been Harry’s preoccupation with Malfoy that had led to the potions accident. Not that he was going to admit that to  _Snape_ , of all people.  

Instead, he turned to Hermione, who was frowning at both of them. “When can I get out of here?” he asked her.

“As soon as Madam Pomfrey’s sure that you haven’t got any hidden injuries,” she told him, then frowned, before slowly adding, “It’s just another couple of hours, Harry, that’s all,” and patting his foot absent-mindedly through the blanket.

Harry exchanged glances with Snape. It appeared that it wasn’t just them the déjà vu was affecting now – Hermione appeared to be feeling it, too. Resolving to talk to her as soon as Madam Pomfrey let him go, Harry settled down to wait.

* * *

Ron pounced on him the moment he set foot out of the Hospital Wing. “I’m sorry, mate, she wouldn’t—” he began, but Harry and Hermione each grabbed one of his arms and hustled him down the corridor. “Oi!” Ron squawked, trying to tug his arms away. “What’s the matter with you? Gerroff!”

“Eloquent as always, Mr Weasley,” said Snape from behind them.

Harry, finally realising what was triggering a “new day”, hastily released Ron’s arm before he could struggle, and plastered himself against the wall. Hermione wasn’t quite that obvious, but she too had let go of Ron.

Snape swept past them with a sneer. “Oh, and Potter,” he said, just before disappearing around the corner.

“Detention, tonight, eight o’clock,” Harry sighed in resignation, barely realising that he’d said it at the same time as Snape had.

“Precisely,” Snape said. “And don’t be late!” His words were punctuated by the scrape of his cloak against the stone as he rounded the corner.

“Git!” fumed Ron after Snape had gone, but he was giving Harry and Hermione an odd look.

They exchanged a look of their own. “Harry’s lucky it was only  _one_  detention,” Hermione said, eventually. “How many could it have been?”

“Um—” Harry tried to remember, but it was like trying to catch fog in his bare hands. “’Bout half a dozen?” he tried.

Hermione tutted at him. “Honestly,” she scoffed, taking hold of Ron’s arm again and beginning to drag him away down the corridor. “He could have killed us!”

“Maybe then Dumbledore would have sacked the greasy git,” Ron chimed in, hopefully.

“Not Professor Snape;  _Harry_  could have killed us all,” Hermione corrected him. Ron’s face fell in disappointment.

“Well, I’m sure it was Malfoy’s fault anyway,” he said.

Harry opened his mouth – after all, hadn’t he agreed with this every time Ron said it? – but catching sight of the glare Hermione was aiming his way, he decided that discretion was the better part of valour and closed it again.

After all, he was brave, not stupid.

* * *

“You’re having déjà vu, aren’t you,” Harry said in an undertone to Hermione later that day at dinner.

“Yes.” Hermione cast him a sideways glance. “And you’re about to tell me why, aren’t you.” Her words weren’t any more a question than Harry’s had been.

“That potion that exploded over me and Snape – as he keeps saying, I apparently put the Time-Turner powder in  _first_. Something happened. Every time one of us brushes against the other, we pass out, and wake up – this morning – in the Hospital Wing.”

Hermione stared at him for a moment. Then she scowled at him. “Perhaps next time, you might try  _listening to me_!” she said, huffily, crossing her arms.

“Yes, Hermione, I will,” Harry said, meekly.

After a moment, his friend chuckled. “No, you won’t,” she said, but in warmer tones. Harry smiled back at her, thankful he’d been forgiven so easily. After all, he needed her research skills. “So it’s just you and Professor Snape brushing against each other that ‘resets’ the day, or d’you think it’ll happen with me as well?” she asked. Harry could see the thoughts already busily turning in her head.

“I have no idea,” he admitted. “The déjà vu doesn’t seem to be as strong for you as it does with me and Snape.”

“Hmm.” Before Harry realised what she was planning, Hermione had suddenly nudged him hard in the arm with her elbow. When nothing happened, she raised her eyebrows at him.

He shook his head. “It’s a bit like sticking your finger in a socket,” he told her. “Hurts like h—”

“Wha’s a socke’?” Ron mumbled through a mouthful of something.

“Er—” Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, both struggling on how to explain something as simple – and yet so complicated – as an electrical socket to Ron. Harry finally had a brainwave. “You know those plugs that your dad collects?” he said. “Well, sockets are what those things go into in order for them to work.”

There was a pause. “Right,” said Ron, not looking any the wiser, and obviously regretting having asked at all.

* * *

The only good thing about repeating the day, Harry reflected later, was that he couldn’t possibly be late for his detention. Even if Hermione hadn’t been off, hip-deep in research in the library, he still remembered enough to ensure that he didn’t become completely immersed in the game of Exploding Snap. In fact, he’d been so casual about playing that he’d almost gotten his eyebrows singed off.  

Strolling casually along the corridor towards the Potions classroom, he was surprised to see the door already opening. To his further surprise, Hermione was walking through it, tucking a large sheaf of notes away in her bag.

“Thank you, sir,” she was saying over her shoulder. “Hopefully this will give me a good starting point—”

At that point, unfortunately, she bumped into Harry, who had expected her to notice him, and so hadn’t moved far enough out of the way. Instantly, Harry felt the by-now familiar sensation of a reset crashing through him. Groaning, he crumpled to the floor, Hermione landing awkwardly on top of him. Through bleary eyes, Harry could just about see through the door to where Professor Snape was falling towards the floor. His eyes closed, and he knew nothing further.

* * *

**_5th April 1996 – Take Six_**   

Harry came back to consciousness with a jolt.

The surface he was lying on was too comfy to be the stone floor of the dungeons, so unless someone had cast a Cushioning Charm, then he was in the Hospital Wing. Groaning, he lifted a hand to his head. It felt as though someone had hit a Bludger at him.

“Oh, look, Mr Potter’s awake,” Snape said from beside him. Instantly, he wished he could just fall back into unconsciousness, but unfortunately, he wasn’t that lucky.

Harry opened his eyes to discover Snape lying in the next bed, and Hermione swaying on her feet between them. His friend raised a hand to her head, looking dizzy. Apparently, he and Snape had gotten the better end of the deal, being unconscious when the reset started.

“Ooh, you were right,” Hermione said, weakly, to Harry, sinking down onto the bed beside his feet. “About it—” She suddenly caught sight of Snape’s interested gaze. “Um, feeling like sticking a finger in a socket,” she finished, awkwardly.

Snape snorted in disdain. “Well, we know the effect is increasing,” he said, looking incredibly sour, “since now Miss Granger is part of it.”

“But surely that’s a good thing, sir?” Hermione asked, seeming to have shaken off the light-headedness. “I mean, obviously it’s not  _good_ ,” she added, hastily, as Snape scowled heavily at her, “but if I’m caught up in it, too, won’t that help in terms of researching how to halt the cycle?”

Snape opened his mouth, then closed it again. From the look on his face – as though he was watching Neville brew a very temperamental potion – Hermione was obviously right.

Harry was just glad that now there was someone else – someone he trusted – to do the research. Although Snape had a vested interest in not reliving the same day over and over, Harry felt he could rely more on his friend. And she would keep him up-to-date on her progress . . . whether he wanted her to or not.

“It’s a pity I don’t have the notes I took yesterday,” Hermione was saying now, “but I think I remember enough of them to carry on from where I left off.”

For a second, Harry was confused, until he realised that Hermione hadn’t meant the day before, but the . . . he struggled briefly with the terminology . . . the  _loop_  before.

“It perhaps would not be wise to consider it  _yesterday_ ,” Snape said, almost as if he’d read Harry’s thoughts. Or had the same ones, which was perhaps worse in Harry’s opinion.  _Thinking the same thing as Snape – the world must be ending!_  he thought.

“Wh—oh, of course.” Hermione shook her head at herself. “I shall try,” she said, doubtfully.

“You seem to have got the hang of this quicker than me,” Harry observed. “I spent  _ages_  thinking it was just really strong déjà vu.”

Snape frowned, thoughtfully. “As did I,” he admitted. “Maybe being on the periphery of it all has allowed you more clarity, Miss Granger.”

“I can keep an eye out for anything that would cause that particular side-effect,” agreed Hermione.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught Harry’s attention, and he snapped his head round to see the medi-witch bustling towards them. Hermione twisted around to see what he was looking at, and began to slide off the bed. To catch herself, she put her hand out . . . right onto Harry’s blanket-covered legs.

“No!” Snape and Harry blurted together, but it was too late.  _At least this time_ , was Harry’s last thought,  _we’re already in the Hospital Wing._

* * *

**_5th April 1996 – Take Seven_**   

Harry came back to consciousness with a jolt.

The surface he was lying on was too comfy to be the stone floor of the dungeons, so unless someone had cast a Cushioning Charm, then he was in the Hospital Wing. Groaning, he lifted a hand to his head. It felt as though someone had hit a Bludger at him.

“For Merlin’s sake,  _be careful_  this time,” someone said crossly from beside him. Levering his eyes open, he could see Snape lying on the bed beside him, and Hermione swaying dangerously on her feet between them.

“Ooh,” she moaned, putting her hand to her own head. “I really wish I was sitting down when that happens.”

Snape hastily picked up his wand from the bedside table and conjured an armchair behind her. “Sit down there, Miss Granger, before you fall on one of us and trigger another go round,” he snapped out.

Her face pale, Hermione did as instructed.

“From here on out, we must take precautions,” Snape continued. “Even the slightest touch between any of us could cause another reset.”

Harry wondered just how difficult that would be, considering how much time he and Hermione usually spent together.

He soon found out.

* * *

The next few loops found he and his friend going to absolutely ridiculous lengths to avoid touching either Snape, or each other. The ever more elaborate dances garnered strange looks from their House mates, and constant questions about whether they’d had a falling out. Ron was particularly persistent about it. “’Cause if you had, you would tell me, right?” he demanded.  

“We have not had a falling out, Ron!” Hermione snapped from the chair she was sitting in, several feet away from Harry.

“Then what are you doing?” he asked.

“Research,” said Hermione, shortly, and disappeared behind the giant tome she was holding.

They had already discovered that trying to be at opposite ends of the castle didn’t work – they had a tendency to run into each other unexpectedly around corners when they did that.

Finally, on the sixteenth or seventeenth repeat of the day – this one triggered by Snape emerging from the dungeons just as Hermione was walking past and being unable to stop in time – Snape seemed almost . . . pleased.

Although he had an unorthodox way of showing it.

“And Potter, detention,” he said, outside the Hospital Wing as they were trying to wrestle Ron away down the corridor before  _he_  got a detention. That particular part had not gotten any easier.

“Eight o’clock, yes, sir,” Harry sighed, shaking his head. He had no idea why Snape bothered saying that every time.

“No, let’s make it in an hour, this time. And detention for Miss Granger, too,” Snape added, smirking wickedly as all three heads swung round to stare at him.

“ _What_?!” Harry and Ron squawked together, but the Potions professor had already vanished around the corner.

Hermione folded her arms and frowned after him. “It must be research,” she said to Harry.

“Research? What research?” Ron asked, but was ignored.

“Surely he didn’t need to call it a detention,” Harry grumbled.

“It’s probably his little joke,” said Hermione, looking doubtful. “You know how he’s always wanted to have one on my record.”

“Hello, what research?” Ron repeated. “Are you two listening to me?” But he was just as thoroughly ignored as before. The pair had developed the habit of speaking freely in front of him, well aware that by the next reset, he wouldn’t remember a thing.

Harry was spluttering in disbelief. “ _Joke_?” he repeated, once he’d caught his breath. “Snape doesn’t  _have_  a sense of humour; we all know that!”

“WILL SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON!?” Ron finally yelled, his face flushing almost as red as his hair.

Startled, the other two stared wide-eyed at him, then they looked at each other and blushed. It really was a terrible habit they’d gotten into, and if Snape really had found a way to get them out of this loop, it was one they’d have to break – and fast.

“Sorry, mate. We’ll tell you later, promise,” Harry said, although he crossed his fingers behind his back. If they were unlucky, then Ron wouldn’t even  _remember_  him making the promise, let alone hold him to it.

“Come on, Harry.” Hermione started to reach for his arm, then abruptly jerked her hand back as she belatedly remembered she shouldn’t touch him. “We might as well make our way to the dungeons now.”

Nodding, Harry followed her as she began to walk away, leaving their other friend fuming behind them.

* * *

“I believe I have discovered what happened, although not how to reverse it,” Snape said, almost as soon as they set foot inside the classroom. He glared at Harry. “The pomegranate seed you dropped into your cauldron mixed with the peppermint and caused an instability. If you had been paying less attention to Mr Malfoy, then you would have added the Belladonna powder by that stage, and the instability would have been negated. Unfortunately, you also added the Time-Turner powder  _first_ , so when the potion exploded, it combined with the instability, and became a  _temporal_  instability, hence our constant reruns of the day.”  

“I told you to pay attention,” Hermione murmured under her breath. Harry glared at them both. “It was also a new moon that night,” she added, in a louder voice. “Perhaps that had something to do with it, sir?”

Snape pondered this for a while. “It may have,” he agreed. “Perhaps the pull of the lunar tide is the reason that we’re only repeating one day, and not jumping back and forth to Merlin knows when. Let us hope, though, that we don’t need the moon, new or otherwise, to reverse this instability.”

“Perhaps, sir,” Hermione started, her face brightening, “if we tried a potion with a concoction of hellebore and knotgrass as the base, then added—”

As the two of them descended into technical jargon, Harry found himself tuning them out. Yes, that was partly what had gotten them into this mess, but really, who cared about whether monkshood or aconite would work better, or whether lovage or jabberknoll parts should be used first, or whether . . .

“ _Potter_!” Fingers snapped several times in front of his nose. Startled, Harry jerked his head back. Snape was standing in front of him, scowling ferociously at him. “Kindly have the decency to  _pay attention_ ,” he growled. “You might learn what  _not_  to do in future classes!”

Chastened, Harry nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said, obediently.

Snape apparently didn’t trust this turn-around, as he snorted. “I shall brew the first attempt at a reversal potion today,” he said, turning and striding back towards his desk, neatly side-stepping Hermione as he did so. Reaching the side of his desk, he swung round to face them. “So kindly take care not to set off another loop. I shall be  _most displeased_  if I end up wasting my time.” Folding his arms to emphasise his point, he glared at them.

Harry and Hermione quickly nodded. A displeased Snape was only likely to end up with one of them dead – or in minus House points for all eternity.

* * *

**_5th April 1996 – Take Twenty-One_**   

Harry came back to consciousness with a jolt.

Lifting a hand to his head, he groaned. That bit never got any pleasanter. Opening his eyes, he saw Snape already sitting up on his own bed, and Hermione sitting primly in a wooden chair. Apparently Snape was the one who woke up first, and he’d taken to conjuring chairs immediately for when Hermione’s consciousness reverted. It seemed, though, he was getting just as fed-up with this as they were, as each time the chair got less and less fancy, and less and less comfortable.

If they kept this up much longer, Harry thought, Hermione would end up with a little three-legged stool.

“Well, now we know bundimun solution doesn’t work,” Snape said, as soon as he registered Harry’s eyes were open.

Remembering the taste of the potion, Harry pulled a face. Snape ignored this, and rose from the bed. Madam Pomfrey, scurrying towards them, made indignant huffing noises, but was also thoroughly ignored.

“Remember,” he said to Harry and Hermione, “take extra care whilst I’m brewing, otherwise I  _will_  be taking House points. And I  _will_  make them stick!” Scooping up his cloak from the bed, Snape swept past Madam Pomfrey, blithely taking no notice of the scolding she tried to give him.

“So then,” began Harry, as Hermione transferred herself to the bed Snape had just vacated, “which of us is going to be top in class today?”

* * *

Ron was standing, spluttering, when they finally left the Hospital Wing. “He – but – wha – I –  _git_!” was all they could understand. Looked like Snape had taken points again.

Grinning, they each took one of Ron’s arms and marched him off down the corridor.

“Hey, where’re we going? Gerroff!” he protested, but didn’t try to escape their hold too hard.

“Why, have you forgotten our class schedule  _already_?” Harry asked, in tones of mock surprise.

“We’re going to  _Divination_ , Ron,” added Hermione, as though speaking to a very small child who didn’t understand.

Ron looked from one to the other, then frowned. “But you don’t take Divination anymore, Hermione,” he pointed out.

His friends just laughed at him. “Oh, Ron,” Hermione sighed as they approached the bottom of the North Tower, where the Divination classroom was. “What an imagination you have!”

“But—” he was still stammering when they shoved him up the ladder.

Professor Trelawney looked just as flummoxed as Ron to find Hermione in her classroom again, but it wasn’t long before she was warbling, “Of course I knew our parting was not to be forever,” and fluttering around Hermione. It took her another ten minutes to remember the rest of the class, sitting waiting for her.

But before she could do more than introduce the topic for the day – what to do if someone wanted a tea leaf reading, but only drank coffee, and how to read the dregs of the grounds – Harry interrupted with a loud, theatrical moan.

“Ooh, my inner eye is opening,” he groaned, placing a hand over his eyes as he pretended to close them, and tilting his head back so he could peer under it at the room. “I see . . . I see . . .”

“Yes, yes?” Professor Trelawney prompted, excitedly. She leaned forward so far that the ends of her scarf ended up in the coffee pot in front of her. “What do you see, dear boy?”

“I see . . . Hermione gaining the Sight,” Harry said on a trembling breath, as if overcome.

Professor Trelawney let out an ecstatic sigh, clasping her hands under her chin. People such as Lavender and Parvati were leaning forward, too, although they looked slightly annoyed underneath their eagerness. Ron was gaping at Harry, his eyes wide in surprise.

Hermione rolled her head around, then suddenly leant forwards and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, it’s too horrible for words!” she wailed, in a muffled tone.

“What is it, my dear?” Trelawney asked in a near whisper, creeping towards Hermione as if she were a wild animal. “Open your mind, let your inner vision clear . . .”

“I see – I see – I see Harry beating me in the Charms exam this afternoon!” Hermione wailed – loudly. Trelawney leapt back in alarm, and almost fell over Dean and Seamus’ table.

Almost instantly, whispers hissed around the room. An exam in Charms? Professor Flitwick hadn’t told them that! They hadn’t studied for it!!

“I think I’d better take her somewhere to calm down,” Harry managed to say, as Hermione’s shoulders began to shake in what looked like a paroxysm of sobbing. Unable to touch her – not that anyone else knew that – Harry made shooing motions at his friend. Still hiding her face, Hermione rose and stumbled her way towards the ladder. Harry hastily gathered their bags and scurried after her, before Trelawney could ask them anything else about their ‘inner eye’.

Once they were in the main corridors, they took one look at each other, and burst out laughing.

* * *

Professor Flitwick was rather surprised later on to discover that his class of Gryffindors were apparently expecting a surprise exam. He hadn’t prepared one, but felt it might be a good time for a quiz anyway. The Hufflepuffs sharing the class were not amused.

Harry – as Hermione had ‘predicted’ – beat her handily, his Charms working spectacularly well on the first attempt every time. He even began adding little flourishes of his wand, too, until Ron began muttering something about Lockhart under his breath, at which point, Harry promptly stopped.

In Care of Magical Creatures, just after lunch, Harry and Hermione were the only two who didn’t end up either singed or poisoned by Hagrid’s newest ‘adorable’ creature. They had tried to protect Ron, too, but unfortunately, in the manic dance to avoid being hit themselves and to avoid touching each other, Ron had been bumped into the creature’s path, just as it hiccupped a small burst of flame.

In History of Magic, they entertained their classmates by standing beside Binns at the front of the class and loudly proclaiming his lecture along with him – not that he seemed to notice, and it did have the benefit of keeping everybody in the class awake.

By the time the Gryffindor Quidditch team trooped its way down to the pitch for practice, Harry was already swooping circles over their heads.

Or so they thought.

“Blimey, Harry’s keen!” said Fred – or possibly George.

“Oliver would be proud,” said George – or possibly Fred – pretending to wipe away a tear.

“Actually, Oliver would be shouting at the rest of you for not already being in the air, too,” Harry said from just behind the team, and they all jumped.

“Harry!” Angelina, Katie and Alicia all exclaimed. “But then . . . who’s up there?” As one, the team craned their heads upwards, just as the broom shot down towards them. It slid to a halt in front of them, and they all gaped.

“You were right,” Hermione said breathlessly to Harry, dismounting from the broom and handing it over. “It’s wicked fast!” She looked round at the Quidditch team, and smiled at them. “Well, don’t let me keep you!” she said, and sauntered off, wobbling only slightly.

The team turned as one to gaze expectantly at Harry.

“What?” He shrugged. “She wanted a go.”

* * *

When they entered the Potions classroom that evening – they weren’t even pretending to call it a detention anymore – Snape was standing over a cauldron that was emitting wisps of pale purple smoke. It was also making a thick  _gluuugoop_ noise that, frankly, sounded absolutely disgusting.

“We don’t have to drink that, do we?” asked Harry, staying well back.

“Once it is finished,” Snape said, reaching for an ingredient on the table beside him. “If you tried it now, there wouldn’t be much left of you to reset.”

Hastily, Harry took another step back.  _Just in case_.

“How long will it be until it’s done?” Hermione asked. She looked like she wanted desperately to be taking notes, but they’d already learnt that was futile. The notes didn’t reset with them.

Snape carefully dropped the ingredient – some kind of berries, by the look of it – into the cauldron, paused, and then stirred it once. The potion instantly let out a loud whistle, and a blast of bright blue steam. Then it settled, and looked nothing so much as a cauldron full of water.

“Now,” Snape said. He carefully decanted it into three vials, and pushed two towards Harry and Hermione. They waited until he had moved well back before picking them up.

All three stared at the potion.

Hermione gave a huff of annoyance. “Bottoms up!” she said, and downed her vial in one go. She shuddered afterwards, but nothing else seemed to happen. Snape instantly followed her lead and, with a dubious look at the potion, so did Harry.

It felt like he’d swallowed frost that somehow left bits of itself behind all the way down his throat and into his chest. “Ooh, bleurgh,” he managed. “What was in that?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” Snape asked, a corner of his mouth twitching. Harry shook his head.

“Let’s hope this one worked,” Hermione said, and firmly nudged Harry in the ribs with her elbow.

The instant it connected, the familiar lightning-strike sensation overwhelmed them, and the three of them crumpled to the floor.


	3. Chapter 3

**_6th April 1996_ **

Harry came back to consciousness with a jolt.

He groaned and lifted a hand to his head, and then groaned again when he realised what he’d just done.

“It didn’t work, did it?” he asked, glumly, without opening his eyes.

“On the contrary, Mr Potter,” said Snape’s voice – from the  _opposite_  side of Harry from where he normally was.

Harry’s eyes snapped open, and his head whipped round. Hermione was lying on the bed next to his, and Snape was standing between them, arms folded over his chest and looking unbearably smug.

“We did it? I mean—” Harry corrected hastily as Snape’s expression began to change “— _you_  did it, sir? We’re not in the same day anymore?”

“Yes, I did, and no, we are not,” agreed Snape, his face going back to smugness. “And now that we are back to normal . . . 20 points from Gryffindor for not keeping a better eye on your partner, Miss Granger.  _50_  points from Gryffindor for not paying attention and endangering the entire class, Mr Potter. And detention, every night this week. With Filch,” he added, before spinning on his heel and stalking towards the Hospital Wing doors.

Harry groaned.

“Look on the bright side, Harry,” Hermione piped up from where she was reposing. “It’s a brand new day!”

Harry began to perk up, but then remembered just what exactly they had done the day before. “Um, we may not want to start celebrating just yet,” he said, cautiously.

Hermione frowned at him, puzzled. “Why not?” she asked.

Harry began ticking items off on his fingers. “You gate-crashed Divination, no doubt skipping your own class; we both made fun of Trelawney by pretending we had the ‘inner eye’; then we both walked out of the class. We caused Professor Flitwick to give everyone a surprise quiz in Charms. We were the only people to  _not_  get injured by Hagrid’s new ‘babies’. We stood up and recited Binns’ lecture right along with him. We were the top students in everything. You went flying on my broom in front of the entire Quidditch team. We gave catnip-soaked salmon to Mrs Norris, and I think Professor McGonagall got a bit of it, too.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide. “Oh, Merlin!” she moaned, burying her face in her hands. “We are going to be in  _so_   _much_ trouble!”

“Well, there is a bright side,” Harry said.

“What?” asked Hermione, peering through her fingers at him.

“At least this way, we’ll get to practice Memory Charms.  _A lot_!”


End file.
